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Sherlock slammed the front door of 221B and locked it for good measure. He bolted up the stairs, skipping every other step then ripped off his coat and scarf once he was on the first floor. He didn’t even bother to hang them. Sherlock threw them on the couch, letting his coat hang over the side. His scarf dangled precariously for a second before it slithered to the floor.
Sherlock was angry. He walked over to the window in quick strides and picked up his violin. He played the harshest, violent notes his fingers could possible produce. Mrs. Hudson and the neighbors be damned.
John would be home at any moment. It wasn’t hard for Sherlock to calculate the route from the crime scene and the rate of traffic. It was also very likely that John had left moments after Sherlock had stormed off. Once he arrived, he would be angry, just as angry as Sherlock felt. Sherlock gripped the bow harder and played so harshly there was a chance the strings would snap under the weight.
Maybe Sherlock had been slightly irrational. He liked to let people believe that he operated on nothing but ironclad reason but he would be a fool not to admit that he let his emotions get to him more than even the average person. And he fiercely loved John Watson, which is why it hurt so much that Sherlock was questioning John’s feelings for him. Four months ago, Sherlock thought something had finally changed between them. He thought they had broken that barrier that had been keeping them at arm’s length for so long. They were acquaintances; then friends; then best friends; then something more, but that something couldn’t be defined. They were too afraid to define it.
When they finally took that leap and John told him about the feelings he had been harboring for so long Sherlock felt like he was walking on air. Their moments together were more intimate. John touched Sherlock more and Sherlock wasn’t afraid to touch him back. John would place his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders while he sat at his microscope or wrap his arms around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock would always return these gestures by wrapping John in his arms as he fell asleep and brushing his fingers across John’s knuckles while he ate. They also spoke more openly. Sherlock no longer felt like there was something for him to hide.
The intimacy was truly magical but it only happened in 221B, as if it was something to be hidden. Sherlock wasn’t bothered by that at first. They were just in the beginnings of their relationship after all and what he had with John was for himself and John only, no one else. The problem was John didn’t seem to think they had anything special. He didn’t seem to stop looking for someone else, specifically a woman.
The way John would hold Sherlock and kiss him but then snap back to what they used to be the moment they stepped foot outside of 221B confused the hell out of Sherlock. John seemed to flirt with more women than ever before. He went looking for women to flirt with and he eyed them as they walked by him. It made Sherlock question what they even were. Every time John touched him, he wondered if he was just filling a space that someone else would soon take.
At first, Sherlock felt like he had been walking on air, but the problem with walking on air is that you inevitable crash back down to the ground.
That was what happened when they were at a crime scene. Sherlock was doing what he normally did, which meant seeing everything Scotland Yard was to blind to see themselves. When Sherlock looked up from the body and saw John chatting up one of the female officers. Sherlock’s entire body tensed the moment he locked eyes on them and he could feel himself trembling. The way John smiled at her, the way he leaned towards her, the way they seemed to be so comfortable together even though they didn’t even know each other. Sherlock’s chest lit on fire and constricted until he could feel the pain reverberate in his teeth.
Without even thinking, he stood up marched over and verbally abused her. He deduced her recent break up with her cheating junkie ex-boyfriend. He deduced the fact that she didn’t get much sleep because her neighbors were having sex nearly every night but she didn’t complain because she secretly got off on it. He deduced the fact that she failed every attempt at dieting and ended the rant by telling her that her coworkers would respect her more if she focused more on doing her job then trying to get laid. Sherlock had stormed off after that. He didn’t look at John and he ignored the faces of shock that watched him as he went.
Now here he was, standing at the window, pretending that he didn’t feel any guilt and trying not to think about the fact that what he had with John, whatever it was, would be over in ten seconds.
Sherlock didn’t stop abusing his violin at the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut. He kept playing as footsteps stomped up the stairs eventually stopping by the couch. Even through the loud noises, he was making he could hear John’s heavy breathing.
“You want to explain yourself?” Sherlock played a final harsh note before he leaned the violin against the wall then placed the bow next to it. He glanced back at John, who still stood by the door, and quickly scanned over him. Shoulders tense, hands clenched, slight tremble, breathing erratically; indicating elevated heart rate. John was angry. Sherlock turned back towards the window and let out a controlled breath.
“What would you like me to explain?” John took a few steps forward.
“Oh, I don’t know. Why you stormed off, why you embarrassed Margie in front of everyone, and maybe why you’re acting like a complete dickhead.” John’s head cocked to the side when Sherlock scoffed.
“You know her name, how lovely. Nice to know you two are on such friendly terms.” Sherlock suddenly turned and marched across the room to the kitchen. John tracked his movements. Sherlock grabbed the kettle and slammed it into the sink before turning on the tap. While Sherlock prepared himself, a cup of tea John stood at the edge of the living room.
“That is what people do Sherlock.”
“What is?”
“Are nice.” Sherlock leaned his hands against the counter as he dropped his head forward, shaking it side to side. He let out a pained breathy laugh.
“You clearly have your own definition for what being nice entails John Watson but then again your brand of niceness only seems to apply to women.”
“What?” Sherlock turned to look back at John who was staring at him in confusion.
“You were not being nice you were flirting!” When John opened his mouth to speak Sherlock interrupted him. “I’m not a fool John. I may be socially incompetent but I know what flirting looks like.” Sherlock turned away from John then let out a pained sound. “What am I to you?”
“I don't understand. What are you on about Sherlock?”
“It’s a simple question. I will not repeat myself.” When John didn’t answer, Sherlock clenched his teeth in an attempt to hold off the burning in his eyes. “I have another deduction for you John.” Sherlock stood straight and turned to face John who was standing at the edge of the kitchen. “You are a man pushing forty feeling insecure about his looks at his age. In order to boost your deflating ego, you have taken to flirting with every young woman who gives you attention. John, I thought that we... I will not be toyed with. If you can’t let go of dating women then I want no part of this. I suggest you figure out what it is you want.”
After a gruelingly long silence, John looked away from Sherlock. He breathed in deep then let it out with a slow sigh. His features were nearly impossible to read. John was clearly tense and angry but he was choosing to hold his anger back. Without saying, anything or even looking at Sherlock, John turned on his heels and walked out the door. A few moments later the front door of 221B slammed shut.
Sherlock let out a shutting breath before covering his mouth with his hand. His eyes were shut tight while he tried to calm his racing heart. Sherlock released his mouth to take in a deep breath when it was clear there was no sign he would be calming down. He felt like his thoughts were racing and muddled at the same time. His chest was tight and he could barely breathe. Sherlock leaned his forehead against the table then thread his trembling fingers through his hair. He gripped his curls tightly if only to distract from the tingling in his arms.
He knew what his body wanted and he knew why his body wanted it. He wanted a distraction. A distraction from the reality that John had made a choice and that choice was not him. He knew the moment John stepped outside that he wasn’t coming back. Sherlock pushed him too hard and he was going to suffer because of it.
It took a few hours for Sherlock to get a hold of himself. He managed not to pull out the black wooden box that he had squirreled away for desperate occasions but only just. He was sitting in his chair with a cup of tea in his hands, staring into space. Sherlock’s curls were wet and he had changed out of his dress shirt and trousers into a more comfortable t-shirt and sweats. In an attempt to shock himself, back to his senses Sherlock had taken a long cold shower. It had worked fairly well.
Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. His hopes were raised for a moment but the slow pace and indication of slight heels immediately dashed any ridiculous hopes he might have had.
“Ooh ooh!” Mrs. Hudson knocked once then walked inside holding a plate of baked goods. She walked over to the kitchen, shaking her head at the sight of the cluttered table but didn’t hesitate to clear away Sherlock’s things. “I swear it’s a miracle you haven’t poisoned yourself with this mess. Dangerous chemicals don’t belong in the kitchen, Sherlock Holmes.” Mrs. Hudson stopped what she was doing to look at Sherlock, who still sat motionless in his chair. She looked back down and attempted a casual air. “So, where is that doctor of ours?”
At the mention of John Sherlock looked at Mrs. Hudson for the first time. She was smiling and doting just like always but Sherlock could see evidence of concern in the deep wrinkles on her face and apprehension in her shoulders. It was clear she had heard everything.
“John is…I don’t know where John is.” To Sherlock’s displeasure, he immediately felt his eyes beginning to burn and the bottom of his vision blur. He cleared his throat before raising his cup of tea to his lips in an attempt to hide his face. The wonderful Mrs. Hudson didn’t even flinch. She took a plate with a few croissants on it and placed it on the table next to Sherlock’s chair. When she was finished, she took another prepared plate and placed it on the table next to John’s chair.
“Well, then I’ll just put this here for John. I’m sure he’ll be home any minute now.” Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock a loving reassuring smile before heading back towards the stairs. Sherlock was ready to lose himself in his thoughts again when he heard Mrs. Hudson’s voice from the stairs. “Oh, John!” Sherlock didn’t even hear the rest of what she said. He quickly placed his cup on the table and walked over to the window. He picked up his violin only so he would have something to do with his trembling hands.
John’s steps had been quieter than a few hours ago but Sherlock still knew the moment he was in the room. They both stood exactly where they had been hours earlier but the atmosphere was completely different. After a few moments of silence, it was clear that John wasn’t going to speak first so in order to get the ordeal over with Sherlock spoke.
“So, this is it then?”
“Sorry?” Sherlock shut his eyes and let out a shuttering breath. Must John make this difficult?
“You’ve clearly made your decision. I imagine you’re here to get your belongs-” Sherlock hesitated as a lump formed in his throat. “-and leave.” Sherlock shut his eyes tight when John sighed heavily behind him.
“God, I’m so sorry Sherlock.”
“It’s alright.” Sherlock flinched, his eyes snapping open only to find that John was now standing next to him. John’s hand was light gasping Sherlock’s wrist and he was looking up at Sherlock but Sherlock didn’t have it in him to meet his gaze.
“Sherlock look at me.” Sherlock shook his head, continuing to stare out the window. After a moment, John dropped his hand but didn’t move out of Sherlock’s space. “When I say I’m sorry I mean I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you.” John rubbed his hands over his thighs and looked down. “I didn’t know.” In a moment of bravery, Sherlock finally turned to face John.
“What didn’t you know?” The corner of John’s lip twitched upwards as he glanced up at Sherlock then looked back at the ground.
“It hurt…what you said before and I needed some time to cool off. In the moment I would have said something I shouldn’t have.” John looked back up at Sherlock. “And that wouldn’t have been fair because… you were right. You’re always right, especially about me. I liked that women were still interested in me. It made me feel better. I never thought it bothered you.” John looked down when he felt Sherlock take his hand.
“You never needed them to make you feel young John.” A small smile formed on John’s face.
“No. And I’m an idiot for not knowing that. God, I’m so sorry Sherlock. I’m so sorry I ever let you doubt how much I love you.” Sherlock sucked in a breath, his eyes brimming for a different reason. Sherlock looked down at their clasped hands.
“So does this mean… you’re not leaving me?” A sad smile formed on John’s face. He lifted his hand to Sherlock’s neck then pulled him down so Sherlock could bury his face in John’s neck.
“Never. I’m sorry I haven’t said that sooner. I honestly thought you weren’t ready to hear it but clearly, you were ready long before me. I love you, you git.” Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around John’s waist and let out a shaky breath. The warmth radiating off of John’s body had an instant comforting affect. Sherlock practically became pliant in John’s arms.
“I love you too John Watson.”
Maybe crashing back down to the ground wasn’t as inevitable as Sherlock had originally thought.